Jasmine, Part 2
Warren left the elevator and entered the lobby. Glancing at his Rolex, he found it was four-thirty and the onset of Manhattan's rush hour exodus was underway. He thought about stopping for a drink if she was a no show and didn't hear her approach from behind.
"Got a match handsome?"
Gracefully, he pivoted around and held a cigarette lighter out to her face.
"Just kidding, Warren," Jasmine said, giggling. Inwardly she admired his poise.
He shrugged and said, "I've always wanted to do that. Saw it in a movie somewhere, 'Captain Gallant' maybe."
"Was there ever such a movie?" she smiled seemingly on the verge of giggling hysterically like a preteen.
"Ahh, I dunno," and almost dreamily he added,
"Maybe, maybe it was something else. But it was either Errol Flynn or Tyrone Power." Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he asked,
"Ready?"
"Oh, yes," and Jasmine took his extended arm in hers and they left the building.
Minutes later they were seated side by side in a booth in a quiet Chinese restaurant, poring over huge red menus. He peered over the menu at her and said, "God you're something. You really are something."
"Changing your mind?"
Warren's expression grew somber and he turned away from her, staring out at the bar.
"Warren, you're making this a sad, bleak date. It doesn't have to be that way."
Her hand rested on his and he turned and looked at her.
"We've still got most of tonight. His flight gets in at seven-thirty AM." Jasmine said in a quietly plaintive voice.
Unconsciously Warren began stroking his leg, not too far removed from his crotch.
"Want me to help you out there?" Jasmine smiled as if joking, but licked her lips all the same.
"It... it got to me that's all," he said like a stubborn child. Still, he continued to drift closer to his member. She shifted and moved a little closer to him in the booth.
"What is it the French say? "To say goodbye is to die a little.""
"Ohhh, don't talk that way, you'll make me cry." She feigned a pout, and said "And I'm wearing at least two pounds of mascara. Please... take pity on me."
He laughed, sipped his drink and carefully put it down precisely on the watermarked circle in the middle of his coaster. "Don't you go getting emotional on me," he said. "I've got all I can handle controlling myself."
"I won't Warren," she said softly.
The waiter stood by unobtrusively until they became aware of his presence and they ordered. The ordered enough for six people even though they weren't hungry at all. The large quantity of food served to detract from the emotional roller coaster both were riding.
Suddenly Warren burst out with, "What about me Jazz, how about the way I feel?"
"Warren..." was all she could say without losing control.
His hand moved deftly to her inner thigh, lighting a fuse within her. He remembered earlier, happier times and trying to recapture them moved his other hand up until he felt the curve of her breast. Jasmine turned slightly so that it rested against his palm. His other hand pressed against her mons and she trembled slightly.
"Did you know Warren, I knew you were going to be a great lay the first time I saw you?"
Her thighs parted to grant him greater access to do whatever he wanted to do with her.
"Oh?" he said startled. Jasmine seldom acted in an uninhibited fashion.
"You mean you wanted me to give you the old little of this, a little of that and a lot of calimar before a proper introduction was made?"
She was still laughing at his remark when the waiter approached and began serving their food. As they sampled their fare, Jasmine thought back to that first time.
Her husband had insisted she accompany him to a dinner honoring a colleague who was moving to Memphis. She hadn't known it would be a roast. Warren had been a sensation in berating the guest of honor with what were obviously carefully constructed, piercing, almost diabolical jabs about his sex drive and preferences. To her surprise, everyone, including the guest of honor, loved his performance.
"Want to meet him?" Her husband asked.
"The guest of honor?" she replied.
"No, gracious no." He pointed toward the Master of Ceremonies. "Warren, the young man who ripped Jeffery to pieces and made him love it. He'll get a promotion out of this. No one else had the gumption to do it."
"He sounds like an interesting person." Jasmine said, taking another look at him, a longer, introspective look. That's when she first thought he'd be a great lay, even before she'd met him.
His hand cupped her mound again; his finger idly traced her dampened folds beneath the dress. She put her napkin down after carefully dabbing at her mouth.
"Would you like me to suck you right here Warren?" Her voice had gone husky.
"Yes, but first tell me how you knew I was going to be a great lay." Her legs were spread a little wider now and his finger pushed harder against her, denied access only by the material of her dress. She grimaced, knowing a wet spot might be evident on rising from the table.
"Just a moment darling," and glancing around the room to ensure no one was watching, she took the napkin and shoved it under her dress and sat on it, hoping it would absorb whatever leaked from her while Warren had his way.
"You fooled me there. Please, lift up again. I've got something for you," he said half-seriously. She complied with his request and seconds later thrilled to the touch of his finger entering her.
"Whew! That was quick."
"I'm known far and wide for never missing an opportunity," he said in a poor imitation of Bogart. "Just a second, I think you're gonna have a bit more company sweetheart," and two more fingers joined the first.
"Just don't try to get your whole damn arm in there Bogey baby," Jasmine said, shifting her behind to allow him a better angle.
Switching to an equally poor Jimmy Stewart, he countered with, "J... J... Jus... Just don... don't crush muh hand with that nutcracker. Now, now be real careful... you're playin' with dynamite there."
Her eyes closed as he reached a point where his fingers seemed to be everywhere. And his thumb... his thumb was toying with her clit.
Quickly, she picked up his napkin and bit down on it to stifle a moan. He felt her thighs quivering and knew she was close, and intensified his actions.
"Talk to me baby," he said; his brow covered with perspiration. "Tell me how you knew."
She fought off her climax momentarily and answered him. "Didn't you?"
"Confused, Warren said, "Didn't I what?'
A moan escaped her lips and she was furious at the betrayal. Her faced reddened as she realized she was now the focal point of several other patrons. One young couple she was positive could actually see Warren's hand moving in and out of her.
Gritting her teeth, she spat out, "Think about fucking me...?"
"Uh no, but that was only... do you like this? This here?" He'd grazed her clit with his thumb and she couldn't hold off any longer. Her orgasm took over and she shook uncontrollably rocking the table, almost tipping it over.
Surprisingly, both recovered sufficiently enough to order dessert. And as they were leaving, an attractive blonde woman approached them and brazenly handed Warren her card, saying, "Call me."
